


Romance Languages

by GuitarVillain



Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Schönberg/Boublil, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Blow Jobs, Language Barrier, M/M, Making Out, Mutual Pining, Recreational Drug Use, Slow Burn, enjolras and co. are from france but they live in the us, enjolras can't speak english well
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-16
Updated: 2020-07-28
Packaged: 2021-03-03 19:48:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,791
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24751117
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GuitarVillain/pseuds/GuitarVillain
Summary: Enjolras doesn’t understand English. It’s too... irregular, too unpredictable.And Enjolras doesn’t understand Grantaire. For the same reasons.
Relationships: Enjolras/Grantaire (Les Misérables)
Comments: 8
Kudos: 58





	1. Parea

**Author's Note:**

> Parea - (Greek) A group of friends that get together to enjoy nothing else but sharing their life experiences, philosophies, values, and ideas.

“How about this one?” Enjolras looks up from his laptop, and Combeferre reaches across the table to show him the picture. The persons' short, dark hair is pulled back with barrettes, and they’re wearing a button-up shirt with bell peppers on it.

“Ask them about their political views,” Combeferre types out a question for their prospective roommate and Enjolras turns his attention back to the screen. He types out half a sentence. Deletes it. God, he hates writing essays in English.

“They’re a socialist, and they vote democrat,” 

“Do they speak French?” 

Combeferre puts his head in his hands and sighs. They’ve been doing this for weeks. He just sits there, staring at the scuff marks on the table. “Please ask them?” Combeferre sighs again, picks up his phone, and types Enjolras’ question out. 

“They do,” Combeferre begins, looking at Enjolras with that look. The one he uses when he tells Enjolras something he’s told him a million times before. Just like he’s doing now. “But I don’t think you should be basing your opinion on potential roommates solely on whether or not they speak French,” Enjolras furrows his brow. 

“That’s not true, I base my opinion on their political beliefs, too,” He does. It’s very important to him. One of Courfeyrac’s friends had seemed like a good candidate, he spoke French, Courfeyrac knew him, he was kind, but dear God, was he misinformed. He trusted that his friend was doing his best to educate Marius, but would he really learn?

“You practically could’ve shared a brain with that girl we talked to last week, and you vetoed her. Are you sure it wasn’t because she didn’t speak French?”

“No. Not at all. I just…” Combeferre raises his eyebrows. Enjolras glares back. “I didn’t like her. She seemed weird,” And just like that, Combeferre’s head is back in his hands. Enjolras groans, shutting his laptop. “What?” Combeferre looks up at him, exasperated. 

“I know you don’t like speaking English. I know it’s hard for you. I know you don’t like looking for roommates. But it’s not gonna work out exactly how any of us want it. We’re gonna have to make compromises, myself and Courfeyrac included, but it’s such a good apartment. You know that. It’s big and it’s so close to school, but it’s fucking expensive, Enj. We need at least two roommates,” He looks down at the table. Of course Combeferre is right. He knows that. But it’s not like he likes being bad at English. It’s not his fault that it’s such a bizarre language. Enjolras just doesn’t like sounding like an idiot every time he tries to say something longer than a few sentences. He’s smart in French, and it’s just not fair that he can’t be smart in English too. Hesitantly, he meets Combeferre’s eyes.

“Okay. I’ll try to be more open. I promise,” 

And the way Combeferre beams at him almost makes up for how incompetent he feels. 

“Thank you, Enj. Really,” 

He can tell Combeferre means it. This is important to him, he knows. Combeferre goes back to his phone, no doubt writing a new message to the bell pepper shirt person from earlier. Enjolras gets up to charge his laptop, but the sound of the door opening makes him turn. 

Courfeyrac strides in, grinning, and thumps his messenger bag down at the table. His eyes dart between Enjolras and Combeferre, wordlessly inviting them to ask. Neither of them will give in. It’s their little game, to see who’ll give in first. Enjolras looks back at him, raising his eyebrows. Courfeyrac raises his eyebrows back. Finally, it’s Combeferre who relents, not even looking up when he asks “What?” 

Courfeyrac smiles even wider, slamming his hands onto the table. “I met this guy in the library today,” he begins, and Combeferre glances up. “Not like that, I mean, he was cute as fuck, but he wasn’t really my type,” Combeferre goes back to his phone. “But anyways, he seems really cool; he’s an art major, and he speaks Latin, and you know what?” 

It better not be what Enjolras thinks it is. They’ve already got two people they could room with, and he really doesn’t want a third. Another source of noise, another person to get to know, another person to share his space with.

“He’s looking for a roommate, too!” 

Enjolras tries to hide his discontentment. He doesn’t want to shoot Courfeyrac down, and he wants to make Combeferre happy, too, and logically, he knows, it would help with rent. There are so many ways it would be good, but Enjolras really doesn’t want to. It just sounds like a disaster waiting to happen. He watches Combeferre smile and nod and Courfeyrac, and the shame of his own selfishness sinks in further. Pushing the sinking feeling in his chest down, Enjolras speaks. 

“You know what, Courfeyrac?” Courfeyrac turns to him, inquisitive. “I think that’s a great idea,” 

Courfeyrac beams back at him, squeezing Combeferre’s shoulder and brightening. God, Enjolras loves his friends. Even when they have completely logical frustrating ideas about roommates and apartments. Nobody knows him like they do, and he loves to see them happy. So, maybe it’ll be okay. If Combeferre and Courfeyrac are pleased, then it can’t be that bad. He can deal with another person if it’s for the benefit of their own little found family. As long as they’re happy, he’s happy. 

.....

Courfeyrac had decided that they should meet at the coffee shop near the apartment. Last week, Combeferre had met him, too, but Enjolras had been busy, so Courfeyrac was taking him to meet Grantaire this week instead. Premature judgements aside, he was admittedly curious to meet the man, who, according to Courfeyrac, spoke English, Latin, and some Ancient Greek, but no French. Enjolras wasn’t really sure what he was expecting, but it wasn’t whoever was sitting across from him and Courfeyrac in the Musian. 

He had smiled at Courfeyrac and waved them over, setting his tablet and stylus atop a book titled The Homeric Hymns. Courfeyrac and Grantaire started talking immediately, leaving Enjolras to shuffle away and order his tea. 

Now, as he's coming back to the table, chai in hand, Grantaire and Courfeyrac are still engaged in what appears to be a riveting conversation. He watches the corners of Courfeyrac’s eyes crinkle as he says something, smirking, and Grantaire laughs, full and unashamed. The sound is warm, and it tugs on the corners of Enjolras’ mouth. He breathes, and sits down next to Courfeyrac. After a moment, Courfeyrac settles down and introduces him. 

“Grantaire, this is my other roommate, the one we were talking about last time,” Courfeyrac says, gesturing at him. Enjolras puts on a polite smile and extends his hand to Grantaire. He takes it, his grip deliberate and firm, his hand marked with a tattoo of a flower that Enjolras doesn't recognize. All too soon, his hand is gone, and Enjolras frowns before he can think to cover it up. 

“What, not good enough of a handshake for you, Apollo? I’ll have you know, I great pride in my hand-shaking abilities,”

“No, no, no, I just- nothing. I…” Goddamnit, he’s fucking this up. It would be so easy just to stop talking, or say something rude, but he has to do this right. He has to do it for Courfeyrac. 

"It’s very nice to meet you,” Enjolras says after a too-long pause. Grantaire snorts and Courfeyrac giggles playfully elbows him. He stares at his tea mug, and when he looks up, Grantaire is looking back at him, amused. 

Grantaire takes a sip of his own drink. “It’s very nice to meet you, too,” he answers, the sleeve of his hoodie sliding down as he lifts his mug, revealing words inked in black. Ars longa, vita brevis. Enjolras is about to ask him about it when Courfeyrac interrupts. 

“Grantaire, Grantaire, you should tell him about what you’re working on,” Courfeyrac gestures towards the tablet on the table, almost knocking over his coffee before grabbing it. Grantaire makes an inquisitive noise, and then picks it up. He turns the tablet on, and searches. 

“Uh, it’s not really a big thing. It’s a project for my illustration class. We were supposed to pick a story or book, and I chose the Echo myth, and I did this thing, and I, I guess I should just show you,” Grantaire flips the tablet around to Enjolras and Courfeyrac, and Enjolras’ eyes widen. The illustration is of a boy admiring himself in a mirror, extended at arms length. In the reflection, there’s a girl behind him, pounding at the glass, trying to get his attention. Almost all of it is in dull blue tones, but the girl’s lips and the boy’s eyes are both bright red, jarringly commanding attention. He can’t bring himself look away from it. Grantaire lets him look for a minute, then takes the tablet back.

Leaning in, Courfeyrac gushes to Grantaire. “That’s so cool, I love seeing your art,” 

Grantaire shrugs. “It’s just something I’ve been working on,” He says, “not super important,” 

"Of course it’s important,” Enjolras blurts. Grantaire has clearly put thought into his drawing. He doesn’t know the Echo myth that well, but he can guess that the colors might be symbolic, and their placement definitely is, from what he knows about the story. 

Grantaire just hums and stares at his coffee cup. 

Enjolras scowls, an argument on the tip of his tongue. Courfeyrac intervenes. 

“So, Grantaire, do you wanna tell Enjolras about your job?” Courfeyrac taps Enjolras’ arm, urging him to be civil. 

“I’m interning at the historical society right now,” he says, “So, that’s cool, I guess. What do you do?” 

“I’m working actually at a bookstore,” Enjolras replies, and takes a drink of his tea. Grantaire raises an eyebrow.

"Sounds neat. What kind of bookstore?"

"Uh, it's called Barnes & Noble's, we sell, uh, lots of kinds of books and also some other things, like notebooks and toys," Grantaire smirks at him. Fuck, he can't think fast enough in English for this. "Also, there's a Starbucks inside," 

Grantair laughs, but this time, Enjolras doesn't feel like smiling. He just feels shame, deep and ugly in the pit of his stomach.

It must show on his face, because suddenly Grantaire taps his hand, his smirk replaced by a gentler grin. "Enjolras. I'm sorry, I didn't mean to make you upset. I know what Barnes & Noble is," 

Courfeyrac starts rubbing his shoulder, too. "I swear, Grantaire didn't mean to offend you, Enj. And R, Enjolras is just kinda... touchy," Enjolras makes a sharp turn towards Courfeyrac, bitter. He loves Courfeyrac, but he is doing nothing but making this whole situation worse. "It's nothing personal, really," 

Enjolras takes a deep breath like Ferre always tells him to do, and looks Grantaire in the eye. "It's fine," He says, not completely sure if he's telling the truth. Only, he's not quite sure what to say after that, and Grantaire isn't looking away, so Enjolras just keeps looking at him. Eventually, Grantaire blinks, looking back at Courf. If Enjolras squints, he can see a faint blush on Grantaire's skin. 

"Okay!" Says Courfeyrac, lightly slapping the table. "I think I speak for Enj and I both when I say that we like you. I would formally like to invite you to live in our apartment. Once we actually move in," He glances, almost nervously, Enjolras thinks, away from Grantaire and towards him. "So. Speak now or forever hold your peace," 

Enjolras doesn't understand, not really. He thinks he gets the gist of what Courf is saying, but he's never heard that phrase before. He stares at Courfeyrac, trying to convey his confusion, but Courfeyrac just grins back at him. A quick look at Grantaire tells Enjolras that he's happy to be their roommate, so he supposes it's a done deal. Courfeyrac says as much, and makes a show out of toasting with each of them, coffee and tea in hand. 

As he and Courfeyrac are leaving, Enjolras feels a hand on his shoulder. He turns back, and Grantaire is standing there. 

"It was really nice to meet you," He says, gaze flicking from Enjolras' eyes to the floor. "I really didn't mean to offend you, promise,"

It's... nice, Enjolras supposes, feeling his face warm, slowly grinning back at Grantaire. "It was nice to meet you too. And it's really okay,"

Grantaire doesn't look convinced, Enjolras thinks, but he doesn't say it. 

"Well, I guess I'll see you, Apollo," 

Grantaire turns back to grab his things before Enjolras can argue about the nickname. A little part of him wonders whether he actually dislikes it. He does his best to ignore that part.


	2. Gezelligheid

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gezelligheid - (Dutch) A warm, cozy atmosphere, or the warmth of being with loved ones.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> god, i'm sorry, this is is so late! thank you for being patient and please enjoy this short chapter! the next one will be longer :)

Grantaire, as Enjolras has learned, is not very loud. He spends most evenings in the room he shares with Jehan, the one with the long dark hair and the bell pepper shirt. Jehan plays the flute, and they often move around the house while they do so, but it's not irritating, like Enjolras thought it would be. It's kind of... nice, he supposes. While Jehan wanders around with their flute, Grantaire is in his room. "Sometimes I do traditional, y'know, like canvases and stuff, but I like digital a lot, so that's what I usually do," Grantaire had told him when Enjolras asked him about his art. 

While Grantaire does his art, and Jehan plays their flute, the rest of them (Enjolras, Combeferre, Courfeyrac, and their other roommate, a boy named Feuilly) sit and watch television. It's mostly American shows, that Courfeyrac calls sitcoms. Combeferre tells him it's a shortened version of situational comedy, because the shows are funny due to the circumstances of the characters. Courfeyrac's favorite is about a government worker who wants to make her town better. Sometimes Leslie, the government worker, will say or do something, and Courfeyrac will elbow him a little, and say that she reminds him of Enjolras. Combeferre's favorite is about a group of people who are in hell but don't know that they're in hell. It makes Enjolras think of a play he had to read in lycée, by Jean-Paul Sartre. He says to Combeferre that he thinks they seem similar, and Combeferre tells him that the show was based off of the Sartre play. It makes Enjolras happy, probably a bit too much, that he understands enough of the show to draw a comparison between the two works. Most of the shows they watch together have too much slang for Enjolras to really figure out what they're saying, but Combeferre will patiently explain the references and colloquialisms to him, and at that point, he can kind of piece the plot together. 

Usually, they eat dinner on their own time, but Combeferre tries to get them to eat all together once a week. This week, they're eating pizza, plain cheese, since they couldn't agree on toppings. He watches with vague confusion as Grantaire folds his slice down the middle, and eats it like a sandwich. Before he can turn away, Grantaire catches his eye. 

"What?" 

"Why do you eat pizza like that?" Enjolras asks, not really bothering to wonder if he sounds judgmental. Grantaire doesn't seem to take it as an insult, and just shrugs at him.

"It's good," He muses, taking another bite of the folded pizza. "You should try it," 

Irrationally, he knows, Enjolras feels affronted. He tries to find a reason against it, he really does, but he finds none. Reluctantly, he folds the slice, and takes a bite. To his both his dismay and delight, it's good. Really good. He looks back at Grantaire. 

"So?" He says, and his eyes glint with what Enjolras can only describe as mischief. He doesn't look away. 

He thinks for a moment before saying "It's fine," but before he thinks better of it, he adds "strange, but fine,"

Grantaire still doesn't seem disturbed by his bluntness. He grins, wide and earnest, and Feuilly leans over his side of the table to join in. 

"It's good, isn't it?" He says. Grantaire turns away from him, towards Feuilly, and lightly shoves him. Feuilly cackles and sits back down, and he, too, folds his pizza as he eats it. Grantaire turns to Enjolras again, smiles, and eats his pizza.

Enjolras feels happy.

....  
On Friday night, he helps his roommates get ready for a party. "It'll be fun," Courfeyrac pleads when Enjolras is reluctant. "I'll buy those chips you like, promise," is what finally gets him. He will resign himself to a night of drunk nineteen-year olds who have no regard for his property, nor any volume regulation, whatsoever, once they're intoxicated. As long as Courfeyrac buys him those chips, the gourmet ones that cost way too much, and they only carry them at this one store that's a 20 minute drive from their apartment, and campus. Enjolras feels a bizzare need to defend his preference for the chips, though he knows that he should really care less. 

Once, Grantaire had said "someone told Enjolras to pick a battle, and he picked all of them," after they had fought about whether it was okay to abstain from voting (no, it is not okay, Grantaire. By not voting, you're wasting a privilege that people have died fighting for) and if hot dogs counted as sandwiches (of course they do, it's meat inside of bread), both arguments occuring within the span of ten minutes. 

So maybe Grantaire was right. He needs to learn to let an argument go. That would be his goal for tonight, he half-heartedly concludes, to not get defensive about his chips. A sad goal, but a goal nonetheless. 

And after all, Courfeyrac did come through on his promise. The chips are sitting on the countertop, still in the bag. He makes the executive decision, though one he's not entirely proud of, to hide the fancy chips in his room. Courfeyrac bought them for Enjolras, as payment for going along with the party. A quick scan of the living room and kitchen confirms that he can cross to his room unnoticed. 

Combeferre is already dressed and out helping Courfeyrac, so he won't be returning to his and Enjolras' shared room. So Enjolras stashes the chips under the bed, finds something to watch on Netflix. Something French, he thinks to himself, not in the mood to listen to English tonight. He settles on a documentary about penguins, a subject he doesn't really care much about, but finds fascinating enough to watch a documentary about. Outside his door, he hears Feuilly and Courfeyrac whooping at something, followed by a cackle from Combeferre, and Grantaire's deep, warm laugh. It's strange how he feels so at home here, with Combeferre and Courfeyrac, his oldest friends. And then there's Feuilly and Jehan, whom he's learning to love. Grantaire, however, stays at a distance. But that's okay, Enjolras thinks. If Grantaire needs space, he can have it. Enjolras is learning how to pick his battles.


	3. Ghalidan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ghalidan - (Tamil) Rolling from side to side, as lovers do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warning for recreational drug use in this chapter! they do smoke weed!
> 
> also the rating went up, so keep that in mind :)

It's about 11pm when Enjolras finishes the documentary, bag of chips in hand. Though his room is quiet, he can hear the party cruise on just outside his door. The music is bass-heavy, and it pulses through the apartment. Here, alone in his bedroom, in an apartment he shares with his closest friends, Enjolras feels alone. Which is silly, really. Combeferre and Courfeyrac are less than six meters away, probably, if he would just step out the door. He's thirsty, anyways, from the chips, so he should really get a glass of water. His mind darts to the other meaning of 'thirsty', the American slang Courfeyrac taught him. 

"It's a party, Enj," Courfeyrac had said to him, leaning his head on Enjolras' shoulder. "You need some stress relief, and we both need to get laid," He had rolled his eyes at Courfeyrac, and said nothing, just kept cooking dinner. Courfeyrac seemed to interpret Enjolras' irritation as admittance of guilt, and teased him relentlessly over it all night. 

As much as he hates to admit it, Courfeyrac was right. Kind of. He feels... keyed up, and on edge. Maybe not 'thirsty', but something similar enough. However, he's definitely thirsty in the literal sense. 

Feeling brave, or at the very least, impatient, Enjolras walks unnoticed from his room to the kitchen. It's not until he's filled up a glass with ice water that Grantaire comes in, eating a bag of chips identical to the one in Enjolras' room. 

"So," He says, locking eyes with Enjolras, "you come here often?" 

Enjolras doesn't really know what to make of that, so he laughs, which seems like a good enough reaction at the time.  
"I... do. Do you?" and because fate seems to be in Enjolras' favor tonight, Grantaire laughs, only it's not like how Enjolras was laughing only seconds ago, it's resonant and genuine, a sound Enjolras likes more than he's willing to admit. They stare at each other for a few seconds, smiling. 

"Where have you been all night, Apollo?"

"I watched a documentary about penguins," he confesses. "I'm a little boring, honestly,"

Grantaire's eyes sparkle in a silent laugh. "You mean bored?"

Enjolras tries not to feel ashamed of himself, and then when that doesn't work, he tries not to let the shame show on his face, but that must not work too, because Grantaire gives him a look of sympathy and wordlessly offers him a chip out of the near-empty bag. 

"I have more in my room, if you want," Enjolras suggests, taking a chip. And before he can overthink it, "C'mon," he beckons. 

Tonight, his room is only slightly messy, but he sets his laptop and a notebook aside before patting the space beside him for Grantaire to sit down. Grantaire pours the remainder of his chips into Enjolras' half full bag, and leans back against the wall. 

The silence, in Enjolras' opinion, is both awkward and peaceful, though it can't really be called silence. He can still hear the music outside, and nearer, there's the sound of him and Grantaire eating chips. 

"Y'know," Grantaire says suddenly. "I was wondering. Do you have something against parties?" 

The question hits Enjolras unexpectedly, and he struggles to gather his thoughts into English quickly. 

"No. I mean, not really. There's things about parties that I don't like, but I don't have a problem with parties in general,"  
"What do you not like about parties?" Grantaire prods.

"I don't know, there's always a lot of people that I don't know, and everybody drinks too much, and I have to be there to make sure they don't do stupid things," 

"You never drink?"

"No, not really. I don't like the taste of beer, and I don't want to go out to get fancy drinks," 

Grantaire chuckles. "And I'm guessing you never do anything else?"

"Like, drugs?" Grantaire nods. "Drugs seem kind of dangerous, I think,"

"You ever smoked?" 

"Cigarettes or weed?" Enjolras asks.

"I meant weed, but either," 

"When I was a child, my dad smoked cigarettes, and I never liked the smell," 

Grantaire nods again, and asks; "And weed?"

"A lot of people I went to school with smoked, but I was never really friends with the kids that did,"

"So you were a good kid," he says, which Enjolras does not agree with, but before he can argue against it, Grantaire speaks again. "And you never smoked?" Enjolras makes an affirming noise. It's quiet, again, for a moment, before Grantaire asks; "Do you wanna try?" 

Another question Enjolras wasn't expecting. He thinks it over for a minute, and supposes that he would, which he tells Grantaire.

"No, dude, I meant, like right now," 

Enjolras furrows his brow, and Grantaire produces a joint from the pocket of his jacket. He must stare at the joint, or Grantaire, maybe, for a little too long, because Grantaire clears his throat.

"I mean, you don't have to, but the offer's here if you want it," 

Tonight, Enjolras says to himself, he is going to be a normal college student. He meets Grantaire's gaze, and nods. 

Grantaire shoves his hand back in the pocket where the joint came from, and fishes around for a few seconds, and comes out with a bright blue lighter. He lights the joint, and tentatively hands it to Enjolras. He holds it between his pointer finger and thumb, like he saw the kids do back in lycée, and brings the joint up to his lips. He inhales, and embarrassingly, he immediately chokes. 

But then Grantaire's hand is on his back, clapping against him as if it'll make him breathe better, but it only makes Enjolras' face redder, and his breath come slower. 

But eventually, a minute later, Enjolras takes slow, steady breaths, and Grantaire gently pulls the joint away from him. When Enjolras looks back at him, he's smiling, and obviously biting back laughter. Enjolras should feel ashamed, he knows, but looking into Grantaire's eyes, he laughs first. And then Grantaire's, laughing, and they're both laughing so hard their stomachs hurt, and Enjolras doesn't feel embarrased, or lonely. He feels at home. 

"C'mere," Grantaire says, and motions for Enjolras to cross his legs on the bed, and face Grantaire. "You know what shotgunning is?" Enjolras can feel his face flush, and he nods. "You wanna?" He nods again, going redder. But maybe Grantaire can't see it, he thinks. The room is dark, save for the lamp on his nightstand. Enjolras had turned off the other light with the intention of a Netflix binge, but this, he thinks, this is so much better. 

He sees Grantaire take a drag of the joint, and he puts his hand, softly and slowly, on Enjolras' jaw, cupping his face. Their eyes meet, and Grantaire's thumb rubs back and forth next to next to his lips. And Enjolras can't really tell who leans in first, but all of a sudden, they're centimeters away. On the next downstroke of Grantaire's thumb, Enjolras parts his lips, and Grantaire exhales into his mouth. 

He sucks the smoke in, trying to memorize the weight of Grantaire's hand on his jaw, and waiting for the high to kick in, to feel something. Not that this isn't something, because Enjolras knows he'll be replaying this in his head for a while, and he doesn't even know Grantaire, not really. But he's wanted to know him for a while, and this is doing nothing but making the feeling stronger. 

Abruptly, Grantaire pulls away from Enjolras, and he grabs at Grantaire's waist, trying to pull him nearer again. He chuckles, and Enjolras can feel it through the hand he's got on Grantaire's side. Before he can backtrack, Grantaire takes his other hand and pulls Enjolras nearer to him, too. The hand on his jaw tilts his face up, meeting Grantaire's lips again for another breath of smoke. 

Grantaire shotguns him another few times before Enjolras starts feeling it, and it's only when Grantaire's forehead is leaning against his that Enjolras notices he's got his hand fisted in Grantaire's jacket. 

"Are you hot?" he asks Grantaire. 

He makes no indication of having heard the question, and only gently tugs at Enjolras' hair, which, wow, he likes that, but Grantaire probably didn't hear him, so he asks again. 

Grantaire pulls back, and, fuck, no, Enjolras didn't want that. 

"No. no, I like this, I like this. Do you not like this?"

Grantaire shakes his head, which is one problem solved. Tentatively, Enjolras pushes the jacket off Grantaire's shoulders, giving him time and space to back away or say no. Grantaire doesn't move much, except to help Enjolras pull his arms through the sleeves. Once it's off, Grantaire's hand winds its way back into his hair, and his other hand still holding the joint. He and Enjolras exchange smoke and air one, two, three, four more times before Grantaire stubs out the rest of the joint on Enjolras' nightstand. As soon as it's put out, Enjolras leans back, pulling Grantaire down with him. 

They laugh, and Enjolras presses a quick kiss to Grantaire's cheek, and then he kisses Enjolras' forehead, and they make a game out of it, for a little while, giggling and pecking each other. Grantaire moves to graze Enjolras' cheek, and Enjolras runs his hand up Grantaire's ribs, a gesture meant to be playful but ends up making Grantaire laugh so hard he slips a little, and ends with his lips square against Enjolras'. He freezes, hesitant until Enjolras presses back against him. 

Weed makes Enjolras stupid, he thinks to himself, content under the weight of Grantaire. It's a good kind of stupid, though, a kind that leads to kissing pretty boys, like Grantaire.

His train of thought, however, is interrupted by the the pretty boy himself as he runs his tongue along Enjolras' lower lip, which only serves to make Enjolras feel more good-stupid. He avoids Grantaire's ribs, because as much as he loves hearing Grantaire laugh, this is a better thing to do with their mouths right now.

Enjolras also thinks that weed makes kissing with tongue better. He feels electric like this, but he honestly doesn't know whether it's the weed or Grantaire's doing. He tugs Enjolras' hair again, and he moans into Grantaire's mouth. Grantaire gives a sharp gasp, and kisses Enjolras harder. 

He's been hard for a while now, but he can feel that Grantaire is, too, against his leg. He grinds his hip up into Grantaire's thigh, and he says something like oh, fuck, oh god that Enjolras doesn't hear the entirety of, but he can gather that it's something good. And then he gets an idea. 

"Grantaire, R," he giggles, eager and fixated at once. He doesn't know the word in English, but he wants this so bad, and he's too high to care whether he makes sense or not.

"You know how you can kiss a person's neck, right?"

Grantaire smiles and nods, leaning in to press his lips against Enjolras's jugular, which is very very good, but not what Enjolras is going for.

"And you know how if you kiss someone's neck a lot, there's color afterwards?" 

Enjolras watches Grantaire's face turn from amused confusion to awed understanding before he dives back into Enjolras' neck, biting and sucking, and rolling his hips down against Enjolras'. 

He hangs onto Grantaire's shoulders, thrusting back up against him, and giving little moans and gasps when Grantaire pulls his hair. It's good, it's good and Enjolras doesn't want it to stop, not now, not ever. At least not when he hasn't really done anything for Grantaire. 

"Wait, wait," He breathes, kissing Grantaire's chin when he comes up from Enjolras' neck. He pushes Grantaire up until he's sitting with his back against the wall, and Enjolras climbs onto his lap. He feels intoxicated by the sound of Grantaire's breath hitching as Enjolras brushes his hand down his chest. For some reason he can't name, Enjolras keeps his eyes locked with Grantaire's as he twists down, only stopping when he gets to his collarbone. Enjolras pulls the worn fabric of Grantaire's t-shirt aside, and scapes his teeth against his light brown skin. Grantaire grabs at him, pulling him so they're chest to chest. Enjolras can feel Grantaire's heart thumping, and it's hot and tender all at once. 

He guides Grantaire's hand back to his hair, sucks at the junction of his neck and shoulder. As Grantaire pulls at his ponytail with one hand, his other kneads Enjolras' ass, and brushes their cocks together through their jeans. Enjolras heaves, and Grantaire half lifts, half pushes Enjolras out of his lap and splayed onto the bed. 

Enjolras has had sex before, but it's never been this hot, or this exciting, or this amazing ever before (and they haven't even really had sex yet, Enjolras thinks). Grantaire looks up at him, fingers at the zipper of Enjolras' jeans.

"Is this okay?" he asks, and Enjolras is nodding frantically before Grantaire's even finished his sentence. Grantaire pulls his jeans and underwear down, and asks him if he has something Enjolras doesn't recognize the word for. He furrows his brow, and Grantaire huffs and moves off him for a moment, and Enjolras desperately fears he's done something wrong, or offended Grantaire somehow. He rifles through Enjolras' nightstand before grinning and pulling out a capote. 

"Condom," Grantaire says, giggling a little, and waving the packet around. Enjolras smiles and repeats after him a few times, hoping he's saying it right, and also really hoping they can get back to what they were doing, which now will hopefully involve activities that necessitate protection. 

He kisses Enjolras slow and deep, and unwraps the condom. He pulls back, caressing Enjolras' face again, and watching his face as he rolls it onto Enjolras' cock. 

It's intense, Enjolras thinks to himself, closing his eyes and letting his senses take over. The dull hum of the music outside, their own heavy breaths, and the feel of the duvet beneath him. He moans, louder than he really should, when Grantaire takes him into his mouth. His hips jolt a little, and Grantaire's hands press him down into the mattress, sucking harder. 

"Soon," he tells Grantaire, as he licks around the head, and Enjolras feels him pull off a little, pushing his index finger into his mouth, and pulling it out with a nice popping sound. He goes back to blowing Enjolras, and he closes his eyes again, reveling in the sensations. 

He warns Grantaire again that he's getting close, and Grantaire, oh my god, Grantaire, pulls him in even deeper, and skims his wet finger along Enjolras' rim, and that's it, that's it, he's coming. Grantaire sucks him through it, pulling off when his breathing evens out. He pulls the condom off of Enjolras, and cautiously kisses his forehead, which doesn't make a lot of sense to Enjolras, considering they've been grinding and making out for the past forty-five minutes.

He pulls Grantaire into a kiss, a real one, and whispers "thank you," before lazily reaching down to Grantaire's cock. 

"You're tired, Enj. It's okay, really," he explains. 

Enjolras whines, which he's not proud of, and says "but I want to,"

"You can make it up to me another time, promise" he answers, with a soft kiss to Enjolras' lips. "Do you want some water?" Enjolras nods, and watches Grantaire leave before tugging his pants completely off. 

He resolves to close his eyes, but not fall asleep quite yet, because Grantaire is bringing him water, and he should be awake to thank Grantaire again, and invite him to cuddle, or something. If Grantaire likes cuddling. 

He really should get to know Grantaire better, Enjolras decides.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> trust me, things are gonna get complicated from here

**Author's Note:**

> I like to think that in a modern setting, all the characters (especially enj and r) would have had a chance to get some character development earlier in their lives, and would be better, more caring people.


End file.
